


Honor, A Word of Various Meanings

by bringmethestars



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmethestars/pseuds/bringmethestars
Summary: August 21st, 1887; Gruene, Texas"What's good here?"I turned to tell the man our menu and specials, and was frozen by his shockingly-blue eyes. I ran my eyes over him quickly, taking in his tall, broad build and roguishly-handsome face with the speckling of light facial hair.Oh Lord.I felt a blush creeping over my caramel skin as I took his order, and when I came back with the plate of fried catfish, a Southern specialty, I found myself pulling a chair out to sit with him.After pulling a bank job in the major livestock town of Fort Worth, Texas, the Van der Linde gang heads south for a reprise in the gulf. While the rest of the gang heads to South Padre, Arthur Morgan decides to stay in a small town south of Austin, an insular community called Gruene to find leads for him and Hosea and scope out a new camp for Dutch.Upon arriving, Arthur finds himself in the local saloon, and a young waitress catches his eye.***I'm not sure how long this work will be, but I plan to create a storyline up until Eliza and Isaac's death. Haven't wrote a fic in a while, bear with me! :)**
Relationships: Eliza/Arthur Morgan
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be as canon-consistent as possible, but will have some original characters added for fun ;)   
> Feel free to comment any suggestions for plot, characters, etc!  
> My vision of Eliza is that she resembles Amandla Stenberg, Bessie is similar to a young Meryl Streep, and Annabelle like a Jennifer Garner. That's how I envision them, but I know some won't!   
> I'm going to try to tell the story from many POV's :)

> _"Momma!"_
> 
> _Blood covered the wooden floor. Gunsmoke lingered, and heavy footsteps grew quiet. A young girl, barely 13, cradled her limp mother in her arms, blood staining her raggedy dress. Tears crept down her cheeks, but no mass of the salty liquid could bring back a life stolen by greed._
> 
> **Eliza**
> 
> This was never the life I imagined for myself. Of course, being mixed with Negro and German, I got the better end of the stick than many a mixed women gets. Still, a girl can dream of finer things, plush carpet floors in Saint Denis, or a stable of fine Thoroughbred studs in New York, being a writer of giddy romance novels or philosophy in London. I figure that's why most in this small town dislike me. I have what folk call, "ideas above my station", especially for a black girl. I am to be grateful and pleased to work as a waitress, earning maybe 12 cents a day if business is good. And at work in the tiny, dusty saloon I waitress at, I get spat at, called various indecencies, and even touched by the men (sometimes women) who pass through. But yes, I suppose I am grateful. I can read and write, have decent vocabulary and grammar, and have learned to be self-sufficient. I owe it to my momma, a fine woman who at the age of 16 was knocked up by some German feller passing through her plantation in Austin, and not by her choice. She always looked out for me, taught me invaluable things. And, I guess, as much as I hate to say, I owe some of my grit to her death, and the man who killed her. So, I get up every morning, splash water on my face, plait my unruly curls, pull on the cleanest dress I have, and walk to work. After I get off, I count my wages and tips and put them into the wooden box momma got me for my 12th birthday. She always told me I had a fine way with words, and to work towards my dreams. She wanted me to become one of the first successful Negro woman authors, to get out of Gruene, and live a finer life than she could. Every day since I was 13, I have been giving my all towards that. Cent by cent, I can almost taste the smoky air of Paris or the electricity of Chicago. Nothing can stop me.


	2. Hell's Half-Acre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't an update schedule for this work, it's pretty much whenever I find time lol.  
> Remember to comment any suggestions for the work! :)  
> Historical context for the chapter: "Hell's Half-Acre" is a section in downtown Fort Worth that is exactly .5 of an acre and was notorious for gambling, brothels, drinking, and was even visited by famous Western figures such as Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp, Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, and more.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hell%27s_Half_Acre_(Fort_Worth)   
> View the link for more info if you want!

**Arthur**

_Fort Worth was an interesting town. Lot of cattle folk and saloons. Some money too, being a big livestock place, which of course was Dutch's appeal. Had me working on a ranch for a few days rounding up cattle with half-wit cowpokes. Said it was to "get a feel for our take." Whatever the hell that means. Got some shit from Javier and Bill about it. Told them they had no room to speak since they was in the half-acre damn near most of the 2 weeks we was there. Bill claimed he played a game of poker with Doc Holliday but that's doubtful considering how drunk he was. Hosea found some rich old ranchers to scam outta a few hundred bucks as per usual, something about investment in a Texas Horse Breeding Program. The bank, unsurprisingly, was easy to get in to and the take was decent, 5,000. Not too many law left that'll remember our faces after that._

_*sketches of Boadicea hitched in downtown Fort Worth, the Stockyards, and the infamous Half-Acre*_

Tucking the journal in my jacket, I sat up in my bedroll and began to pack my temporary camp up. Dutch instructed me to head further south into Texas while he and the rest of the gang spent a few days on the coast. _Dutch and his sand._ I pulled out my map to find the gang's next hole-up, scanning the dots of cities and names of towns. _Austin.. too big, though south enough. San Antonio..._ I scratched the scruff on my chin, unsure and overwhelmed from the amount of, well, _Texas_. Then a town catches my eye. _Gruene_. Small, south, and just close enough to any major cities. Deciding Dutch would approve, I rolled up the rough paper and slid into Boadicea's saddle, giving her sturdy neck a pat. 

> "Come on girl, we got quite a ride ahead. Texas ain't the smallest state, that's for sure."

_Evening_

I always enjoyed riding. Getting in the saddle allows me to clear my mind, focus on the horse, the scenery, the _ride_. Dutch always gave me a hard time for not wanting him or Hosea to teach me how to ride, but I guess I just wanted to prove I could do it myself. Riding with Boadicea through the different plains and forests and deserts of Texas allowed me to relax, to take in and think about the past few days, sketch some scenery. 

Now, it must be about midnight, and we finally reached the small, dusty town of Gruene. It seems sleepy except for the lights and piano pouring out of the saloon downtown, plus a few drunken cowboys singing down the streets. I hitched Boadicea and slipped her a carrot that was received with an appreciative chortle. I walked down the main street, the laughter and saloon piano growing louder. A few working girls passed by me, winking and whispering amongst themselves as I gave an awkward smile. _Always one with the women, Arthur. No wonder Mary doesn't want_ _you_. I shook my head as I pushed open the saloon door and the smell of whiskey, food, and cigarettes wafted towards me. Men briefly looked up from their blackjack cards or beer bottles, but didn't seem to see much of interest to my relief. I continued up to the bar top, nodding to the bartend. He handed me a bottle as I laid a nickel on the counter. Scanning the room, an empty table caught my eye and my stomach was growling like a bear. I didn't see a waitress though. Walking towards the small wooden table, a small tan-skinned woman darted in front of me, carrying plates of something fried with carrots. _God damnit I'm starving._ I decided to follow the woman who I assumed was the waitress I needed. 

> "What's good here?" 

She turned around, and my heart stopped. She was, well, gorgeous. Her dark curls pulled into a loose chignon perfectly framed her face, she had soft brown eyes that almost screamed the word _kind_ , rosy cheeks, and plump lips. _Good lord._ I could feel heat radiating from my body, and the thoughts in the back of my mind screaming, " _Mary, Mary, Mary!_ " were silenced by this girl. 

She told me the menu of the saloon, but I couldn't hear a word. I was so captivated by her beauty, the shapes her lips made while she spoke. I did hear however, one thing.

> "I'm Elizabeth, but just call me Eliza. Everyone else does."
> 
> _Her smile._
> 
> "And you are?"
> 
> _Speak you idiot._
> 
> "Oh, um, Arthur." I cleared my throat and gave Eliza a weak smile.
> 
> "Nice to meet you, Arthur. You must be new here. Mind if I get you the saloon specialty? It's a must for all new-comers." She gave me a sly smile.
> 
> I nodded, feeling increasingly idiotic each second that went by.

When she walked away, I let out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding and mentally punched myself. _You poor dumb bastard._


	3. Breathless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mature Content** (slight smut, mostly implications and not too much detail)  
> Back!! (not that anyone was awaiting a new chapter lol)  
> As always comments are encouraged and ideas for this work accepted!

**Eliza**

_Arthur Morgan._ Walking away from the shy man's table, I was sure my face resembled a tomato. Something about his gaze, his voice... it lit up my insides and warmed me from head to toe. Brushing a stray curl from my face, I entered the kitchen to tell Mo, the only other person of color working in the saloon and the cook, Arthur's order.

> "That man with the blue eyes got a taking for you Miss Eliza", he said, giving me a sly smile.

I playfully rolled my eyes and swatted his arm, trying not to turn beet-red again. Leaving the kitchen, I saw Arthur's eyes wandering the restaurant, appearing to search for someone. _For you._ My insides heated up again, and I swatted the ridiculous idea out of my mind. _No distractions Eliza. You made a promise to yourself, to momma._ But looking back at the table where the handsome cowboy was seated, the images of lush libraries with mountains of books and plum tarts in Paris cafes dissipated. 

I found myself grabbing a chair from an empty table and dragging it towards the corner where the man with the leather hat sat, smoking a cigarette, and somehow looked thoughtful while doing so.

**Arthur**

> _"Goddamnit John, I can't do everything for you! Grow up!"_

_I rubbed my face in frustration and looked back up to see the stricken look on the teenager's face._

The screech of wood against wood roused me from my thoughts. I put out my cigarette stub and turned around to see the pretty waitress, Eliza, heading my way with a chair. For some odd reason, my heart skipped a beat, and a small smile played across my lips. 

> _"But what about Mary?"_

I grimaced internally, but shook her memory off with the shot of dark whiskey next to my plate.

> _"Screw Mary"_

_Her laugh was intoxicating. The conversation flowed like the Kamassa. She told me of her dreams about a better life, being a writer, her mother. I told her about my rough childhood, how my father died, and how my mother loved me. Throughout the evening, I found myself glancing at her lips, the shapes they formed with each word. She seemed to notice, and her tan cheeks turned flush. I felt a desire I hadn't in a long time. I couldn't tell if the heat radiating off of me was from said desire or the alcohol I was consuming. I decided it was a mix of both. The shots of whiskey loosened her, at one point she released her curls from the knot at the nape of her slender neck. The desire spread through my entire body, consuming me._

**(Eliza)**

_Sitting at the table, laughing with this strange cowboy made me feel emotions I thought I wasn't capable of, though the whiskey definitely helped. I shared things with him I have never spoken to another human soul, yet this tough man is worthy of my precious thoughts. My face felt permanently flushed, my body overcome with a strange desire, a longing for the gloomy man across from me._

_I led him out of the saloon, feeling like a giddy teenager. We laughed as we ran to my house, the wind whipping through my hair. A storm was coming, and drizzle was falling. Arthur pulled us against a tree, both of us breathless, and finally pushed our lips together as a crack of lightning hit. Pleasure flooded from my lips to my toes, making me shiver. His big hands ran through my tangled curls. Drizzle turned into fat droplets of rain, soaking us entirely, but we didn't care._

_I led Arthur into my small cabin, who kicked the door behind him, and carried me to my bedroom._


End file.
